Strength
by Lonely-soul101
Summary: I have to prove to my father that I'm strong, that I'm not some little girl playing Marine. So I've gone after Whitebeard and Fire Fist Ace, two of the strongest pirates on the Grand Line. Not my brightest move, really. Especially since I decided to play the part of pirate and join the crew. Let's hope I don't any more stupid things, like fall in love or something. OC/Ace


_Which one is right, and which one is wrong?  
_

* * *

"Hey, wait up! Cap-Commodore!"

I paused, turning. Carl ran up to me, waving, wearing that stupid grin of his. Like me, he too wore his proper uniform, consisting of a white suit, cape-like coat, epaulettes and all. He looked more mature than usual in the uniform, with his hair neatly pulled back and his vast amount of earrings all replaced with a pair of silver bars. I too had replaced my usual stone-earrings for a set of pearls, wearing the string to match around my neck.

"Congratulations on your promotion, _Captain._" I teased once he caught up. He nudged me with his elbow, removing his hat. His new medal shined brilliantly. "What about you? Commodore?"

I shrugged, smile fading. Carl, understanding my lack of enthusiasm, merely patted my arm and said nothing more of it. Sometimes, I feel like I hardly earned any of my ranks. Sometimes I feel I get promoted just because of my father's position, and not because of my own skills or achievements._  
_

"I'm being placed in charge of a branch now!" Carl boasted, opting for a subject change. "I'm being sent to the Grand Line tomorrow. I get my own ship, too!"

"Wow. Aren't you the birthday boy?" I smiled again, trying to be happy for him. "You better write me. I'm probably going to be on Marineford for the rest of my life, so take lots of pictures."

"Oh, come on. You've seen the outside world before!"

"Only on missions. Never with any _real_ freedom."

Carl chuckled. He followed me all the way to the housing, or homes, for the Marines stationed at Headquarters. We made small chat to fill the silence, but when we reached my door, he said his goodbyes. "Try and come see me off tomorrow, alright?" He said, slapping me on the back. "I'll be really sad if you don't!"

I waved him off, closing my door. As soon as I locked it, I stripped my coat and unbound my hair from it's bun. I practically tore my uniform off, but carefully placed it on it's hanger and put it in my closet. Then I flopped on my bed in pajamas, snatching the only photograph in my room from my bedside table. I smiled at the woman in the photo; like me, she was a pale, tiny thing with extremely long, yet curly, blond hair. She smiled at the camera with yellow-green eyes, cradling a tiny bundle, next to a very tall, very muscular man in Marine attire; he didn't smile.

"I got promoted to Commodore, Momma."

My voice was much softer than usual. Maybe it was because I didn't need to speak loud for Momma to hear me. "I had a really pretty ceremony and met the Fleet Admiral and the other Admirals. Dad didn't show up, though..." I paused, eyes drifting to the Marine cap the man wore. He never took that thing off. Not even at Momma's funeral. "But that's OK. Carl got promoted to Captain, too. He's being sent out on the Grand Line to keep charge over a branch. I wish you could meet him, Momma. He's really nice. Annoying, but nice."

The sun was setting, gleaming through the window. I kissed my mother's image and placed the picture where it belonged, laying my head down. The light, so pretty and pink, made me think. As always, my thoughts went to my father. He stopped talking to me a year after my mother died. I used to think he didn't like looking at me, because I was her spitting image. I still ponder on the idea. But now I think he just doesn't have the time. Don't get me wrong, he cares. I've always had top grade education, and my acceleration through ranks was not just because of my skills. He takes care of me; he babies me.

He's never seen me as a Marine, but as his little girl playing soldier. The higher rank I am, the less likely I am to leave Marineford. He doesn't see my strength, he refuses to admit I'm strong.

How could I prove that I am?

My thoughts drifted to the pirate crew I recently apprehended. While the crew itself was no big deal, the captain had a bounty of twenty million Belly. When I brought him in, I impressed the higher-ups enough (although I have no doubt father was pushing for it already) to get promoted. What would happen if I brought down a pirate with an even _greater_ bounty?

I bolted upright in my bed and fell to the floor, yanking a portfolio of wanted posters from under my bed.

I flipped through paper after paper, brows furrowed. Maybe if I brought in Roronoa Zoro...his bounty is currently sixty million Belly, and he, despite being a pirate hunter, is scum to the Marines. I'm sure father would notice me then...or maybe Capone Bege, a young pirate with a one-hundred-thirty-eight million Belly, one of the highest in the West Blue. Maybe, maybe maybe...

Hello.

My fingers stopped on two posters, side by side. The one of the left was torn; the only numbers in the bounty showing were several zeros. He was Edward Newgate - Whitebeard. He was the only man to tie in a fight with Gol D. Roger, the infamous Pirate King. He was Captain of the Whitebeard Pirates, the strongest crew on the Grand Line. If I could even fathom bringing him to Justice, then there's be no way father could look down on me anymore!

The only problem? He's probably the _strongest_ pirate in the world.

The poster next to Whitebeard's portrayed a young, handsome man with dark eyes, freckles dusting his cheeks, and dark, shaggy hair. He wore an orange hat, decorated with a string of red beads and a set of Smileys; one happy, one sad. He wore similar beads around his neck, and a cocky smirk, like he knew he was going to get away with whatever he was doing.

Five-hundred-fifty million Belly.

My heart fluttered in excitement. Fire Fist Ace; Portgas D. Ace. If I could bring in the man with the highest known bounty around, father would see me as I really am; strong.

The problem is finding and capturing them, either or both. Head on approaches didn't work too well on dangerous pirates. Maybe if I could lure them here...

I snapped the book shut. That was scummy, not to mention weak. If I wanted to prove my strength to my father, I would need to bring Whitebeard and, or, Portgas D. Ace here by my own two hands. But head on approaches never work on pirates at their level, I reminded myself. I pulled out their wanted posters and slid the portfolio back under my bed, standing.

As I tried to think of a plan, I went into my bathroom and brushed my teeth. I stared at myself, thinking and thinking. Like I said, I'd never capture them if I just marched up to them with a battalion of marines behind me. Fire Fist Ace was called "Fire Fist" for a reason. And there was no way I could seize their ship. While I've never seen it, reports on the _Moby Dick_ all described it as a massive ship, armed to the teeth. Sighing in frustration, I rinsed my mouth and went back to my bedroom. I might as well sail their ship here myself at the rate ideas are coming to me...

Wait.

I tried thinking of the Marine who got promoted a few years ago for bringing in an entire crew of very dangerous pirates. He'd secretly joined their crew, became their navigator, and plotted their course unknowingly for Marineford. By the time they realized what was happening, several top grade Marine ships were already upon them; it was too late.

I have to become a Whitebeard Pirate.

* * *

I saw Carl off in civilian clothes, under my cape-like coat.

No one said anything of it; once an officer has reached the rank of petty officer, he or she can choose from a number of different uniforms, including his or her personal clothes. Only those who really want to appear "sailor-like" will stay with a more traditional uniform. I often wear some kind of nice civilian attire under with my coat, usually a nice white sundress or a white dress suit. But today, I donned a white, cropped, shirt and a short, frilly white skirt. Everything was based off the attire I'd seen female pirates wear; almost all were scantly clad. It unnerved me to show so much skin, even with my tall white boots, my good old Marine hat, and my sword strapped in place at my hip.

Carl didn't mind one bit. In fact, I think he _enjoyed_ my half-nakedness. He kissed my cheek and hugged me, wiggling his brows. "Giving me a reason to come back, _Commodore?"_

"Not even in your dreams, _Captain._ I'm exploring some new wardrobes is all. Now, buck up and set sail, Carl. You've got an island to protect and Justice to honor." I saluted him, and he and his Marines returned the gesture. Too quickly were they sailing away, ship disappearing over the horizon. I stood there, watching, for some time, before finally forcing my feet to turn away and move.

To any passing soldier, I was just an officer on a stroll. To anyone who actually stopped and spoke to me, I was walking off the butterflies from my recent promotion. And to those who caught me right as I was loading up my sailboat, I was going to sail around the island a bit to remind my fingers how to work a sail. Stupid, yeah, but it worked for the older Lieutenant who chatted me up as he helped me load my last barrel of fresh water on deck and waved me off.

As soon as I was a good ways away from Marineford, I pulled of my hat and shed my coat, folding it neatly, placing them both at the very bottom of my bag. I couldn't part with my coat even if I tried. It was practically the only gift I've ever received from my father with good graces. So I took care to keep it hidden in a special leather flap under all my things. If I ever had to, I'd tell everyone it was a spoil of battle.

I sailed alone for days, my only company the occasional gull that rested atop my short mast for a while. I carefully rationed my food and water, and continued with as many of my daily exercises as possible. They weren't anything too serious; a number of push-ups, crunches, stretches, and weight lifting as best I could with my three heavy water barrels. When night fell, I slipped into the cabin with the door open enough that I could still see the mast form my bed.

The cabin was nice enough. A sturdy, yet soft mattress long enough that I could stretch my legs, with a thick wool blanket and two fluffy pillows. A bench and small table for meals, a tiny stove, and wash basin I used sparingly. Only two portholes, by the bed and washbasin, allowed me to see beneath the waves; there wasn't much to see most times. My sword rested with a pair of pistols in easy access, right by my bed.

By the time I reached the last island the Whitebeard pirates were seen on, I was on my last half barrel of water. I quickly set out for more food, water, and a fresh set of clothes - mine were all salty suddenly - and began to ask around.

"They set off for a small merchant island, Gent, a few days ago." An old man running the fruit stall finally told me, scratching his chin. "There's a storm coming; if you leave now, you'll catch the outer winds and just miss it. You should be able to get to Gent before they set off again, unless they've already gone and left." He marked it on my map and I bought an apple. I could hear him grumbling under his breath as I left. "Don't know why a pretty little girl would be chasing no-good pirates."

I set off not a few hours after docking, quickly raising my sails and exposing the white sheets to the growing wind. By nightfall, I was very far out. The old man had been right; I caught the powerful before-wind of a storm, pushing me faster along than normal. I'd be upon Gent within two days, maybe a little sooner, as long as the wind stays strong.

When I reached Gent, I saw it.

The _Moby Dick._

I blinked, almost missing my chance to dock in the harbor. It was huge! The ship was bigger than any of the Marine ships I'd ever seen, with a white whale figure head and many, _many_ cannon ports. I stepped onto the dock as I stared, absently tying up my boat. If the boat was that large, what did that mean for the crew and captain? I knew from the Fire Fist's wanted poster that he was a little over six feet tall. Whitebeard must be a monster.

I quickly made for the town and found it filled to the brim with pirates. This was _not_ going to be easy.

I asked around, showing Ace's wanted poster and Whitebeard's. Many recognized them: almost all just shook their head and walked away. I was getting frustrated. How hard was it to point in a direction? Just lift your hand and extend your finger and be on your merry way! Or, if you don't even want to do that, just nod! This is getting ridiculous.

The bar was my last stop.

I walked in defeated. This was so _stupid._ I was acting like some sort of whiny brat, crying for her daddy's attention. I felt useless and petty, so much that I ordered a pint and sat alone in the bar. It was loud and rowdy, and a large group in the back was singing drunken songs. I drank my beer in silence, ignoring the strange looks I got from a few bar-goers.

"Hey, hey? What's a little girl doing in here?"

There were three of them, all drunk out of their minds and believably buff. My nose wrinkled at the stench of whiskey as one man crashed into the stool next to me, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "You alone, girly? Need some company?"

I peeled away from his arm, putting my hand over my drink. "No thanks. I'm waiting for someone." I instinctively reached towards my hip; my sword was on my boat.

"Oh, you got a boyfriend?" One of his friends grabbed my arms, laughing. "He can watch."

Shit.

My beer fell from my fingers as I was roughly thrown on a table. Glass shattered, explaining the sudden pain in my back. The third man laughed, grabbing my legs. I was restrained, as their friend descended upon me. I bit the inside of my cheeks, feeling the muscles in my shoulders tense as he leaned in to kiss me. Instead of putting his greasy lips on me, I bashed my forehead into his nose. Blood hit me in the eye, but it got him away from me. His friends loosened their grip enough for me to rip free and spring up on my hands.

My boots were stained as my heels smashed into their jaws. The one with the broken nose gasped as his friends collapsed, howling in pain. I pushed off the table and wrapped my knees around his neck, using my velocity to throw him against the neighboring table. More men jumped at me. I assumed they were all the friends the the first three men; all were enemies now. Crouching, I dodged a first few dozens swings and took down three more with quick, controlled strikes.

Sure, father pushed me through the ranks. But that doesn't mean I'm _completely_ useless. Not even Daddy could push a defenseless-slacker up.

Vaguely, I could see the rowdy group - the one who'd been singing earlier - move to get out of their chairs. Or rather, one did. But a large man grabbed his arm. "Wait. I want to see what happens."

I felt the sting of cold, sharp metal as one pirate tried to dig his knife into my neck. I barely slipped away, wrapping myself around his arm like some sort of monkey and snapping it. Jumping from him, I quickly hooked my legs around the next man and threw him down. One after another, they fell with or without blood. The tallest, however, was faster than I anticipated. He gave me a good punch in the face, right under my eye; I was terrified for a moment that I'd lost a tooth when blood spurted from my mouth. Thankfully, I only bit my cheek.

Like any good solider, I forced away the pain with a wave of adrenaline. He swung like he was going to grab my throat; I swung my leg up. He dodged my kick, but ended up grabbing the back of my knee instead of my neck. Working with this new arrangement, I locked my leg on his hand and curled onto his body, swinging carefully onto his shoulders. I released his hand and wrapped his head in a tight leg-lock in one move. He was tall enough that I could grab hold of the rafters above. I curled my middle, lifting him off the ground by his neck.

"Tap out!" I ground out; he was not light. My arms were already shaking. He thrashed, bashing his fists against my knees. But I was overcome with adrenaline, and did not feel any injury. When he started making chocking noises, he reached up and tapped the rafter twice. I released him, and he crumpled into a heap.

I fell to the floor, wincing as the pain in my knees became known. My cheek hurt badly; it was swelling, and I'd bitten the inside, so there was blood. I had a small cut on my neck and there was still glass in my lower back. But all in all this was a major victory for me; a baker's dozen men were scattered in piles about the bar, some unconscious, some moaning and coughing, and one wailing in pain. This was the first time I've ever taken out more than five people without a weapon or another Marine. I smiled proudly, picking my way back to the bar and ordering another drink.

"You...you just beat up..." The bartender was stunned, gaping as he poured my drink. I frowned. "That won't cause any problems, will it?" I asked, taking the mug gently. He shook his head. "Not for me. For you." He shuffled around and put some ice in a bag, handing it to me in a white cloth. I pressed it against my cheek, shrugging. It felt strange, taking down a group of pirates and not arresting any of them. It gave me tingles in my toes and made my stomach flutter.

"Excuse me."

I turned to see the man who approached me. He wore a sloppy grin, holding his mug towards me. "Nice work. Didn't expect something like that out of a little girl." He said, clanking his beer on mine. I raised a brow. This man had a mop of blond hair and a strange cross and scythe like tattoo on his chest. I don't recognize him from any wanted posters...

"Name's Marco. How about you come sit with me and my crew?" He gestured to the back table, filled with strange and large men. The group who'd been singing? "We have plenty of space."

I hesitated, looking over to his group. The largest man - good lord, he's obscenely tall - had a large, white mustache, a black bandana, and a massive mug in his hand. He was staring at me, grinning a large grin.

Whitebeard.

I turned back to Marco. I smiled and set my mug down, ready to respond. But suddenly he grabbed my arm, yanking me out of my seat and behind him. I was going to protest, but the loud crack of a gun and the sight of a bullet ripping into the stool I'd just been perched on made me snap my jaw shut and spin around.

A new group of men filed in, their leader being the one who'd shot. He was thin, tall, and had...very long, very _pretty _hair. It was wavy and shiny and a lovely shade of brown. I touched my sloppy hair, braided and pinned atop my head, frowning. Is it wrong that a male pirate has better hair than me?

"Bitch; you'll pay for what you did to my crew." The lovely-haired man sneered, reloading his pistol. Marco sipped his beer, less reactive than I , who clenched my fists and took a defensive stance. He turned his head to Whitebeard and his crew. "Pops?" He spoke with a questioning and lazy tone, still smiling his lazy, sleepy looking grin. Whitebeard shrugged. "Don't kill anyone."

"Alright!" The crew around him burst to their feet. "Let's have some fun!"

I blinked at the sudden burst of swords and guns as the Whitebeard Pirates charged the enemy, laughing and roaring all in one. Marco placed his beer down, laughing, and joined the fray. The pirates were monsters, ripping into each other with a brutality I'd never seen in the Marines before. I saw a shark fishman clamp his jaws on the sword of the man he was fighting, shattering it like glass.

The man with pretty hair laughed. "Fools! Don't you recognize me? I'm the infamous Captain Bruce Barber!" His hair suddenly seemed to live, shooting out like long, shiny ropes, and snatching up the Whitebeard pirates.

_Bruce Barber?_ Seriously? A guy with Devil Fruit powers that make his hair come alive called Captain Barber...how original.

"You any good with a sword?"

I glanced at the bartender; he held the handle of rapier towards me, smiling meekly. It was a boring, plain rapier, with your average thin-wire guard. The edge was sharp enough; sharp enough to cut hair. I smiled, gripping the weapon. It was lighter than I was used to, but I swung it once and quickly adapted. Then I charged.

I quickly tested just how many slices it would take to cut Barber's hair. I freed Marco in one heavy swipe. I continued to slip from pirate to pirate, dodging Barber's men in the process. I had almost all released, when flames lit the ends of Barber's hair. The Whitebeard pirate I was getting ready to release dropped before me, holding his hat on his head.

Fire Fist Ace smiled at me.

"Thanks kid, but we got this." He said, patting my head and moving back to the enemy. My cheek stung suddenly. Who was he to call me kid?! I mean, he's like, what, eighteen? He's only a year older than me! He doesn't get to call me a _kid!_ Did he not just _see_ what I just did?!

I turned on the nearest enemy - with my luck, it turned out to be Barber - and socked him in the face with the guard of the sword. He stumbled a moment, before his hair caught around my waist and dangled me over his head. I hacked at the hair, annoyed as it all seemed to concentrate on me. I ripped at the hair and tried to kick him in the head; he slammed me into the rafters. I coughed, dropping the sword as a wooden beam nearly emptied my stomach of its contents. He did this twice, before lowering me to inspect the damage.

I ripped off one of my earrings and stabbed it into his cheek.

Aside from the bit of blood, it seemed to have no effect. He laughed, patting my cheek. But I shoved it deeper into his cheek, and his skin went pale. His hair shriveled and released me as he swayed, dropping to his knees with a moan. I proceeded to shoved my knee into his chest with a good, powerful blow. He was out like a light.

I snatched up my Sea-Prism earring and wiped off Barber's blood with a smile. I popped it back into place and began to take down his pirates. Alright, that's probably cheating. But since I was a Lieutenant, I've always had some sort of Sea-Prism stone on me. Whether it was handcuffs, my short baton, jewelry, or the sword I carried as a Commodore now (which is lined with the stone), I keep it on me to protect against Devil Fruit users. A bit paranoid, Carl always says, but in times like this it's useful.

I dodged a punch and exchanged it with a knee to the face, using the man's head as a springboard and latching onto the shoulders of his companion behind. I swung my body with all my might, forcing the man to tip over. I met the ground with my hands and swung the pirate over my head like he didn't weigh a lot. He did, of course, as he smashed the table he landed on and my legs were already feeling the residual effect of the strain. But I carried on; before I knew it, the only ones standing were Whitebeard and his pirates.

"Not bad, girl." A geisha-dressed man said cheerily, tucking away his guns. A cross-dresser?

Whitebeard clamored up to me. He was well over double my size and had to stoop to stand upright in the bar. He grinned and placed a massive hand on my shoulder. "I haven't seen a woman fight that like since..." He shook his head, grabbing my other shoulder. "How would you like to join my crew?"

He was drunk; ragingly so. It was obvious, by the stench of his breath and the flush on his cheeks. But his eyes...they were sober enough for me. I steeled myself. This is it. My last chance to return home and not be branded a moron or traitor. My last chance to possibly save myself the humiliation of failure, the resentment of being labeled as weak; my last chance to possibly save my own life.

"I'd like that very much." I said, smiling curtly. "Captain Whitebeard."

The giant of an old man laughed, clapping my back hard. "Good, good!" He snatched up another drink. "Tell me girl, what's the name of my newest recruit?"

I hesitated only long enough to think it better not to give my last name.

"Gabriella."


End file.
